


A Good Night's Sleep

by Luv15



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Light-Hearted, Post RotJ, Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luv15/pseuds/Luv15
Summary: Luke  would not be receiving any favors from Han anytime soon. Leia liked to talk. Han liked to sleep. Post ROTJ.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fun by someone who refuses to accept the sad takes some of the books and TFA had on L/H's future and who doesn't want to hear it (fingers sticking in ears...lalalalala). No money was made; no gifts were exchanged; no Disney princesses were held hostage during the writing of this story. Don't even own the computer on which this little tome was cobbled together, let alone the characters represented therein. P.S. Don't know canon from a cannon ball, so apologies for any errors/omissions in that area.

Han Solo was miserable and it was not his fault. He had been asked by Luke Skywalker to take the place of a sick Rogue Squadron pilot on what was described by Luke as “a simple little mission.” Han should have known better than to buy into his naïve brother-in-law’s enthusiastic plea of: “C’mon, Han. It’ll be fun!” 

Beating Luke and his Rogue buddies at sabacc was fun. Squeezing his lanky frame into an X-wing for a 12-hour-long security run that included stops at multiple armpit-of-the-galaxy way stations, most definitely, was not. 

The craft’s cockpit was minuscule compared to the familiar, expansive space he enjoyed captaining his beloved freighter. There were barely four inches of wiggle room between his broad shoulders and the vessel’s walls and his knees were tightly jammed beneath the controls.

Han’s body was achy, stiff and tired after the wretched journey. If Luke thought having his scrawny ass pasted into the confined space of a starfighter for hours on end was fun, the kid sorely needed to learn the definition of a good time. 

To be fair, the slight young man had no concept of how uncomfortable the cramped quarters would be for his sister’s tall spouse. Han didn’t care about fair. The kid owed him one. Han would eventually think of and pull off a stupid, hopefully embarrassing-to-Luke stunt as payback. Now, _that_ would be fun.

Upon landing at the Rogue’s home docking bay, Solo peeled himself out of the X-wing. With co-pilot Wes Janson in tow, he trudged to the squadron office to submit their flight report. 

“I wanna register complaints to the management about this half-assed operation,” Han barked at squad leader Wedge Antilles. With a teasing grin, he tossed the report data pad to his fellow Corellian. Antilles unceremoniously dumped it onto the pile of flimsies, other data pads and extraneous junk that cluttered his desk. 

“Here’s the suggestion box.” Antilles kicked the trash can from under his desk toward the volunteer pilot. “Your comments are _very _important to us.”__

Solo snickered and ticked off his grievances. “There’s no leg room. The holoscreen was broken. The food stinks, and,” pointing at Wes, “the flight attendant is ugly.”

“Hey!” Janson cried. “At least my uniform is pretty.” 

“The color is awful,” Solo fired back.

“That’s just mean, Han,” Wes whined, stroking the front of his bright orange jumpsuit, adding a silly twirl of his hips. “I think it brings out the color of my eyes.” 

The Corellians chortled.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a bottle and paper cups appeared in Wedge’s hands, his raised eyebrow a silent offer of libation. 

Solo stretched his tight shoulders. “Nah. Gonna grab a shower and head home.”

“I hear ya,“ Wedge nodded as the golden liquid flowed into three-fingered pours for himself and Janson.  
“Hey, thanks for helping out today, Han.” The squad leader raised his cup in a grateful salute.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no big deal,” Solo muttered with a dismissive wave of his hand. “See ya' around.” 

“Give Leia a kiss for me,” Wedge said as Han turned to leave.

“Be my pleasure,” Solo grinned.

“Me, too,” Wes chimed in. 

_“You?”_ Han asked with make-believe scorn. Shaking his head in the negative, he poked a long finger at Janson and and intoned a decisive, “No!” as he walked out, making his way to the Rogues’ locker room. 

Wes looked to Wedge in feigned disappointment.

“It’s a Corellian thing,” Wedge shrugged. 

Janson settled into a beat-up office chair, thoughtfully sipping his drink as he watched Han wander away. “If he thought he had reasons to complain before, wait ‘til he gets a load of the shower.”  
_________________________________________________________

Bone weary, Han arrived home well-past midnight. Without turning on a light, he flopped onto the sofa, tugged off his boots and undressed in the living room to insure he wouldn’t disturb a sleeping Leia. He considered staying there for the night, not knowing if he had the energy to stand up and manage his way across the apartment to their room. Figuring that bed beats sofa, he pulled up the last ounce of strength he could muster, crept into the bedroom and stealthily slipped beneath the sheets next to his silent, softly breathing spouse. Several minutes ticked by before he felt his tense muscles begin to relax and he started to drift off.

“Han?” Leia whispered.

For a split second, he considered not answering; to let her think he had already fallen asleep. But his mind flashed back on how pale and miserable she had been that morning, sick to her stomach and retching for what seemed like an eternity. He felt badly that all he could do for her then was hold back her hair, hand her a cool cloth to wipe her mouth after each violent upheaval, and refrain from making patronizing comments about her “pregnancy glow.” The least he could do for her now would be to act like he was listening. “Haaaan, are you awake?” A small, cool finger softly traced his cheek.

“Sort of.” His reply spilled out in an exaggeratedly exhausted mumble. He hoped she would take pity on him and let whatever she had to say keep until morning. 

No such luck.

“I took your advice.”

“That’s good, Sweetheart,” he yawned, gently patting her arm. 

“Do you even remember what you said?” she asked, a hint of mild amusement in her voice.

He was far too beat for his mind to limp, let alone race, to retrieve their conversation from more than 17 hours prior. A silent mantra started playing in his head: Please shut up and go to sleep. Please shut up and go to sleep. Please shut up and go to sleep.

Not waiting for a reply, Leia continued. “Like you suggested, I stopped by the med center and Dr. Tevix prescribed something to help with the nausea.”

This could play right into his hands. 

“See, I give _great _advice.” Even dog-tired, his considerable ego managed to wake up for an appearance. “I hope she told you that you need more sleep. It’s important for the baby, too.” Smart one, Solo, he mentally congratulated himself, mentioning the baby could do the trick. “G‘night, Little Mama.”__

Leia didn’t acknowledge his good night wish. “Yes, smart guy. She told me that. Since I was there anyway she gave me a quick check-up.”

That roused him. Leia had been so very sick that morning. “Everything good?”

“Yes, everything’s really good.” 

“Good,” he kissed the top of her head, blowing out a deep, tired breath that was tinged with relief. Nothing to worry about; her positive words a “permission granted” for guilt-free slumber.

“Anyway…,” Leia began…

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. She wanted to chat. Leia’s “anyway” always signaled the start to a full-blown review of the events of her day. 

Han knew she was speaking to him, but he couldn’t concentrate. Her words were drowned out by the pleading words that were repeating like a prayer in his head. Please shut up and go to sleep. Please shut up and go to sleep.

He considered asking her, gentle like, to please shut up and go to sleep. He thought better of it, conceding that he didn’t have the diplomatic or rhetorical skills for that particular speech to work to his advantage. When it came to shooting off his mouth, his usual “ready, fire, aim” m.o. could turn the most innocent interaction into a week-long argument. 

During these first two months of her pregnancy, Han had tried, really tried to avoid stepping on any hormone-fueled landmines that seemed to surround her. In his defense, many of the triggers were undetectable and he was unused to his calm and collected Leia being so overtly emotional. One minute, he’d be laughing along with his playful, giggling wife and the next he’d be gingerly soothing her as her lower lip trembled and tears flooded her warm brown eyes.

So far, he had been able to keep in check his default “It’s not my fault” response to her emotional outbursts. He never knew what to expect or what to do except to be there for her. He’d be there for her tonight, too, he vowed. He’d be asleep, but he’d be there.

Leia continued to chatter away. 

Maybe he’d beg for her silence. The fact that he was so very tired this evening and so desperately in need of shut-eye only increased the possibility that he’d say something stupid. So, he decided to take a tact with which he was more than proficient: sweet talk. 

He made his move when she took a breath after relating, “….and that’s when the Council decided to send a task force.” 

“C’mon, baby,” he tenderly drawled into her ear, tugging her close. “Do what the doctor ordered. Close those big brown eyes and go nighty-night.” 

“Han, you weren’t even listening…. _Baby _?” she shot back, her pronunciation of the word dripping with displeasure. She pulled out of his embrace.__

That worked well. 

As quickly as she’d been vexed by his choice of word, her voice softened into a hurt, child-like tone. “I thought the Falcon was your baby. You always call her that.”

He groaned silently. He couldn’t see a cat nap in his future let alone a good night’s sleep. But, over the years he had learned that with Leia, the quickest way to settle arguments, large or small, was to simply agree with her. 

“Yeah,” his voice thick as honey as he affixed soft kisses along her neck. “I do call the Falcon baby. You know I love that ship, sweetheart, but I adore you,” he cooed, splaying a warm hand across her stomach, lightly stroking her barely discernible baby bump. 

Before her pregnancy, Han’s smarmy remarks would have tripped Leia’s innate bantha shit detector into high alert. Tonight, however, she happily accepted his sugary reply and nestled more deeply into the bedding beside him. 

Several quiet moments passed. Han was lapsing into dreamland, his mind’s-eye scanning the star field he envisioned each night before falling into a deeper rest. 

“Haaan?”

“Mmmmmh.” Oh, please go to sleep. Please go to sleep. Please go to sleep. 

“How can we _do _this?” There was a sobbing catch in Leia’s voice.__

No, no, no, no. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. 

He struggled to hold back the string of Corellian curses that danced on the tip of his tongue. He needed to find the right words. Smart words. Words that would coax her into calming down and calling it a night.

He was only able to spit out, “Do what?”

“Have a faaammily,” she moaned.

She rolled over to face him, her delicate hands emphatically pressing against his bare chest. 

“It’s a little late to be asking that now, don’t you think, Sweetheart?” he winked at her through a stifled yawn.

“That’s not funny, Han.” She lightly smacked his arm, a concerned pout on her pretty face. “We don’t know anything about creating a real family home or raising….” 

“Shhhh, shhhhh, shhhh,” he gently rocked her in his arms, his voice low and soothing. “Nobody knows how to do that stuff. It comes natural like. How do you think all the planets got populated? You an me are a hell of a lot smarter than most beings out there, right? We’ll do great.”

“You think so?” she sniffed.

“I know so, Princess.” He nuzzled her neck.

She wriggled closer to him. “I hope so. I’ve got a bad feeling that we’re not prepared for this. We’ve never even taken care of a pet.”

“Sure we have,” he exhaustedly rubbed his face. “We’ve got Chewie.”

“Chewie? Han, _you _are Chewie’s pet.”__

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Well,” he yawned, deeper this time, “there’s Luke.”

“Luke,” she repeated in a sigh. 

He could feel her agreeably nod against his chest. Maybe she’ll finally go to sleep?

But, she continued.

“We’ve got Luke.”

“Mmmmmhuh.”

“My twin brother.”

“Yeah,” he barely breathed out. 

“I’m a twin.”

“Mmmmhuh,” he managed, his eyelids closed. He could feel her body relax against his and gratefully realized that this much-too-late-in-the-evening conversation would soon end with a petite princess sleeping soundly in his embrace.

“Like you said, it’s only natural…”

“Nat’ral,” he mumbled, nodding off.

“…so, since I’m a twin, it’s only natural that we should do great with our twins, right?.... Right? Han?” She turned and saw that he was out. She rubbed her nose against his chin then rolled back to relax onto her pillow and into his arms. 

The stars cast soft, hazy light through the bedroom window. A peaceful silence fell upon the contented couple spooned together in their warm bed. The time passed in blissful silence.

Suddenly, Han bolted.

“Leia? Sweetheart, you awake?” He gazed upon her sleeping form.

_“Twins?” ___

Han Solo wouldn’t be falling back to sleep anytime soon.


End file.
